After-Rain
by Bleak Dawn
Summary: OS. "Now, I watch him, the man that I married, and I find a lot of flaws to him, more flaws than qualities, which I didn't see before because they weren't there, or because love makes lovers blind, that's what people say, isn't it? Do you reckon that I don't love him anymore?"


**After-Rain**

**By : **Nutellah

**Translation** : Bleak Dawn

« Hello… ? »

Hermione put away her lipstick and looked up. Framed in the doorway was a man in his forties who was staring at her dead in the eyes. She arched a brow and smiled softly.

"I have an appointment," he informed her, taking a hesitant step into her office. "May I come in?"

She stood. "Of course."

Replacing a wayward wisp of her hair behind her ear, she reached out her hand to shake his; he stepped forward and took her hand in his, his eyes still boring into hers. She coughed, blinked and went back to sitting behind her desk, inviting him to take a seat.

"I've come to ask permission for a new house elf. I've found one that is ready to take on the position."

"Do you have all the necessary papers?"

He handed them to her-a manila folder with three sheets of paper inside. She took them out, skimming her eyes through the content. The corners of her lips lifted slightly at the sight of the name. She looked up for two seconds, staring at the man, unsurprisingly—he was immediately recognizable.

"Draco Malfoy, right?"

"So it seems."

She smiled a bit more openly and proceeded reading the next pages.

"Well, everything seems to be in order. _Accio Folder Draco Malfoy_!"

A drawer opened on the massive filing cabinet and another manila folder, green this time, flew to rest on her desk. She opened it.

"So…I see here that you have a wife and a child. Is this still accurate?"

"Yes."

"Perfect. Do you still work as an assistant for Mr. Lang at the Ministry, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, section—"

"No," he interrupted. "I've changed subdivisions; I now work at the office of Improper Use of Magic. As first enforcer."

Pencil in hand, she crossed out the previous information and wrote down the new one instead.

"Your address?"

"Same as it has been for fifteen years. Emperor's Lane, 224, in the West-End."

"Do you have other magical creatures at home?"

"No."

"No health issues?"

"My son is allergic to the fur of a large number of animals. But it was never a problem with the other elves we've had in the past."

"And, of course, house elves don't have fur. Well a bit of nose hair and around their ears but…nothing different from humans, I mean."

They shared an understanding smile. She adjusted her glasses over the bridge of her nose and turned her attention back toward the papers.

"Two elves, is that right?"

"That I've previously employed? Yes."

"It's a lot, three elves in a fifteen years span."

"Twenty. The first one got sick after thirteen years and the second left a few months ago."

"Left?"

"Yes. We woke up one morning and he was gone. The freedom scarf wasn't there either. It had been hanging in our entry hall."

She frowned.

"He wasn't satisfied staying with you?"

"I don't know. I thought he did, with my wife; he ought to be really trying not to feel at ease. He had everything he needed and he didn't overwork himself. He was a good elf."

He shrugged.

"Well. Your file seems in order and you seem perfectly qualified to welcome a new elf in your household."

She produced some papers from her desk drawer, filled them and signed. She handed them to him.

"Sign here, there, here. That's it. I'll send a copy down to the replacement office and they will contact you. Meanwhile, don't forget to secure a new freedom scarf. I suppose that you are aware that we don't allow for anyone to employ a house elf without one of those at his constant disposal."

"Yes, I am indeed aware of that. Thank you very much."

He got to his feet, and so did she. The shook hands again.

"Mrs Granger."

"Mr Malfoy."

He disappeared and she settled back in her chair. Her eyes remained fixated on the door, and then fell on the folder which she effectively put away in a corner of her desk, in plain sight.

OOO

At five thirty in the afternoon, she left the Ministry.

"Hey!"

She spun around. Malfoy was there, sprinting toward her. She resumed her trek.

"Do you have some time now?"

"A bit. An hour."

"My wife's birthday is in few days and I'd like to give her a dress as a present. I was hoping that you'd agree to help me pick one."

She stopped.

"To pick a dress for your wife?"

"Yes, please."

She glanced at her watch and shrugged.

"I have a free hour anyway."

He offered her a relieved smile and they both walked down the commercial street.

"What kind of fashion does she wear?"

"Er…"

"Formal or more casual? Is it a dress for her to wear every day or more of an evening gown?"

"Every day, I guess…a summer dress."

They fell silent for a moment. The weather was damp, the sky grey, but the warm weather made the atmosphere pleasant.

"Hmm…I love this smell of after-rain during the summer…the rain that hangs in the air, above the asphalt…"

He shot her a brief sideway glance.

"And well, there is nothing more beautiful than a grey sky. The colour grey is just so…I mean, it's full of…full of colours! It moves from light to dark, from silver to taupe, a grey sky is never one shade and that's what I find magnificent. A blue sky, on the other hand, is just that—blue, that's it. It's singular. They grey sky is a multitude."

He remained silent for a little while and then, quietly:

"Are you really going to talk about the sky? Seriously?"

She chuckled.

"Well go head, I'm listening. Find a subject that strikes your fancy, and we might talk about that instead."

"Very well. What do you think of…hum…or, no, tell more a bit more about yourself. If we are to spend an hour together then might as well make it so you aren't a stranger to me anymore."

"You want me to talk about myself?"

"Yes."

"What do you wish to know?"

"I don't know. What is there for me to know?"

"I don't know."

"So, just improvise."

"Well, ah…to keep it short, I've been married for fourteen years now; I have a son who will be attending Hogwarts this September. You already know where I work; I've held that position for eleven years now. I love my job, and I love my son…"

"And what about your husband?"

"What about him?"

"Do you love your husband?"

She stared at him with mirthful eyes.

"What an odd question."

"You think so?"

They neared the commercial avenue.

"Well there you go, you know of me what I know of you. Will that be enough to make less of a stranger?"

"I don't know. We'll see."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Why do you want to give your wife a dress?"

"Because it's her birthday."

"Yes, but why a dress?"

"Why not? Maybe it's what she wants."

"How would you know?"

"I don't know. She didn't say anything about that, but I thought that it'd please her. A dress is always a nice gift, isn't it?"

"Probably."

They remained silent again for several steps. They walked slowly and at times, she tried to avoid the small puddles so as not to ruin her heels.

"Is she pretty?"

"My wife? Very much so.

"Really?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't she be?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know."

She crossed her arms over her chest. It started to get a bit chilly.

"Does she know?"

"About what?"

"That she is pretty."

"Of course. I don't see why she'd be oblivious to it."

"Maybe she doubts it. A woman always doubts. You should tell her so."

"But I do."

"Often enough?"

"Ah. I don't know. Maybe not."

He let a few seconds tick by.

"Or maybe she's the one who doesn't listen very well."

"There's _'Austique'_ over there, where dresses are very colourful. And there's _'Browns'_, but it's more of a high fashion boutique."

"Let's start with _'Austique'_, then"

She stepped into the shop and he followed suit, a bit uncomfortable.

OOO

"How does one proceed, I mean, to pick out a dress?"

"Oh, well, there are different ways…it depends on the criteria. The first one to take into account being the price, perhaps."

"The price doesn't matter."

"Well then, I don't know, Malfoy…choose something that you like, it's important, but it should be something that you believe your wife will like. Try to see things through her eyes, remember the way she dresses or what she might have told you about her taste in clothing…With or without sleeves? Straps or bustier? Long, short, wide, with petticoat, tight…and then the colour, obviously. It needs to be to her liking, her taste, and it should complement her complexion."

"Oh! Well…I like straps very much, and knee length for instance, but not too tight…or too wide either. And she has a light complexion, what colours go with that?"

"Brown? Or maybe green. Blue could work too."

"Or white?"

"No."

"All right."

She swept the shop with a quick glance and approached a throng of clothes in shades of dark blue. She offered him a dress, dangling off of a coat hanger. He wrinkled his nose.

"No. It's too dark."

She put it back and resumed her search.

"Do you remember when I used to call you a Mudblood?"

"Of course, I remember." A pause and then, "do you regret it?"

"Why would I regret it?"

"Because you're not as evil as you were when we attended Hogwarts."

"I was never evil. No, not that one, it's too long. I was never evil."

"Yeah?"

"I never liked you, at Hogwarts. That's all. That doesn't make me an evil person."

"Still, you took part in murders."

"I thought we agreed not to talk about that anymore."

She stops her movement (she had parted two shirts to check what looked like a wool tent) and turned around to face him with a penetrating gaze. It lasted a few seconds before her features relaxed.

"All right, ok. Er…What do you reckon this is?"

"No idea. Not a dress, apparently."

"Are you sure?"

"If that's a dress then it's not one I am willing to give her in any case."

"Yeah. You're right. It's not even decent looking anyway."

She pulled back the two shirts abruptly.

"What is going on with you? Does it anger you that I don't want to talk about Hogwarts? Come on, Granger, it's all in the past…I don't apologise for calling you that, simply because it's _in the past_ and, in any case, we don't care about that. Don't you think so, too?"

"Maybe it's important."

"Maybe not."

"How do you know? It's convenient for you. It never bothered you to be called a Pureblood. The grey, over there."

"No. I don't like grey."

She sighed.

"We've gone through the whole shop. It's not big to begin with but usually there is more choice…"

They left. The crisp breeze stroked their face.

"You took part in murders."

"I don't want to talk about that. It's in the past, it's buried. I paid for what I have done. It's buried."

She remained silent, and so did he. They walked side by side until they reached _'Browns'_, each deep in their own thoughts.

OOO

"We should split up, you go this way and I go the other."

"Alright."

She walked toward the left side of the store and almost immediately, the saleswoman accosted her.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"I was looking for a dress."

"What are you looking for, what kind of dress?"

"Summer, light, with straps and knee length if possible and, in a pretty colour. Blue, perhaps."

"Very well, as you can see blue is the colour of the season, so we have a beautiful selection of dresses in that shade, I'm sure you'll be able to find something you fancy. Oh, follow me; I think that I might have one that will fit you perfectly! Here it is, it's cotton fibres but it's extremely light. The only thing is, it might be a bit transparent so you should probably wear something underneath. Let's see…yeah I believe it will fit you. And we have another dress over here, it's a bit longer, there it is, it is slightly more expensive than the other but the material is absolutely divine, as you can feel for yourself! I think that in blue, short and with straps we've covered everything we have…otherwise, there are these, in white and brown, that is rather agreeable to wear—I own one myself. We have others, but perhaps you'd prefer to start with these first? If you wish to try them on, the changing rooms are behind you, madam, if you please."

"Thank you very much."

Hermione hesitated, chanced a glance toward Malfoy who was studying an orange skirt with a rather intensive look on his face. Finally, she walked toward the fitting-room, the three dresses over her forearm.

"Madam? Do they fit you?"

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, front view, sideways, back, frowning all the while. The first dress – the long blue one – fit her more or less. She walked out, and the saleswoman went into raptures:

"Oh my, you look absolutely lovely:"

Hermione walked over to the shop's wall mirror.

"You think so?"

"Positively ch_aaa_rming!"

"Ah, well, thank you."

She watched herself for a moment, and then her eyes fell on the young woman's reflection.

"I've never liked dresses."

"Really?"

"Really. I think…I think that my husband thinks it's a pity. That I prefer trousers. It's not feminine enough, I suppose."

She ran a hand over the dress, smoothing it down.

"When we first moved in together we were quite young, everything was new, we were in love and it was enough to make us happy, both of us. He thought me beautiful and I thought myself beautiful because we loved each other, it was brilliant, really great. And then our son was born and it took away some of my femininity, I think. I felt huge, heavy, my stomach was a bit wrinkly and I discovered that I had many complexes – those complexes could have disappeared with the coming of sweet nothing, loving words.

"I don't know if you have any kids but I think that a lot of people go through the same thing: the attention is so focused on the baby, the toddler, the little boy, that you forget a bit to find yourself beautiful, to find the other beautiful, and to tell them so day after day. We weren't a couple anymore, we became parents. We lost a bit of that novelty that day, the day he was born. I think it's what we call becoming adults. Now I watch him, the man that I married, and I find a lot of flaws to him, more flaws than qualities, which I didn't see before because they weren't there, or because love makes lovers blind, that's what people say, isn't it? Do you reckon that I don't love him anymore?"

The saleswoman had a torn look on her face.

"Hm…"

"I don't know. I don't know what I feel for him anymore. We've only been married for fourteen years, been together for sixteen, I've really go to know him for seventeen, but I have the strong impression that it's been longer than that…it seems that it's been forever, and that's wrong. I think that he knows it too, feels it too. What should we do, then?"

She heaved a sigh.

"I'm closing on fifty and that fact, it scares me. You see, fifty, the menopause and all those events that painfully marque a woman's life…I feel less and less feminine, less and less pretty, less and less…and so does he. Look at him…he wants to buy me these dresses because he wants a woman, a real one, and it was enough for him, the pants, when we were in our thirties, it was enough for him, but he is slipping, now, he probably can't convince himself that I'm the same as when our relationship first started, because I've changed, now he needs a dress to remember that I still can be…I don't know…desirable? I don't know.

"I don't know. I put make up on every day, I paint my nails, I often wear heels, slim-fitted jackets, transparent shirts, I watch my weight, I go to the beauty salon and get my hair done…it must not be enough."

The poor saleswoman didn't really know what to say. She struggled to reply, but nothing came out of her mouth. Hermione stared at her reflection one last time.

"You're right, it fits me. But I don't like dresses, I've never liked them and I don't see why I would all of a sudden…"

"Perhaps you just need to get used to it."

"Perhaps. But I don't think so."

She walked back to the fitting-room, changed into the second blue dress, the slightly transparent one and walked out again.

"This one fits you too, Madame."

"Thank you. But I rather prefer the other one."

"Why don't you tell him."

"Tell who?"

"Your husband. That you don't want a dress."

"Because…because I don't think it would change anything. He isn't doing this for me, he is doing it for himself. He is selfish, always has been. I can't really blame him for this, I knew that when we got married."

"It's really a troublesome selfishness. If only my boyfriend could be selfish in such way, I mean by taking me out shopping for a dress..."

"But this isn't about the dress, though. It's everything behind it. It's our entire relationship that is falling apart with time, and it's not that it's his fault, I am not going to lay any blame on him alone, and I've made plenty of mistakes lately. I just wonder if we are right in…keeping this up…we're trying as best as we can, I don't know, we'll see."

"I…er…don't you want to try on the white one?"

"Excuse me?"

"The white dress with the brown edges? You also picked it up, I think…"

"Oh, yes. I don't really like white dresses."

But she walked back to the changing room, though, and came out with the linen dress on. Draco was there, standing at the side of the saleswoman.

"You look stunning, Hermione."

She didn't answer, glanced at her reflection in the wall mirror instead.

"I was informing the young lady here that you were taking me out shopping for a dress, for my birthday."

Draco shot a sideway glance toward the saleswoman with raised eyebrows.

"That's nice, isn't it?"

"Hm, yes, Sir."

"Darling, I think you should take this one. It's magnificent."

"You think so?"

"Really."

She crossed her arms, eyes frozen on her own reflection.

"You know very well that I dislike white dresses. I've always disliked them."

He watched her, hands shoved in his pockets, his face blank.

"I don't want this dress. I don't want a dress, period."

She spun around to go back to the fitting-room and change into her own clothes.

Draco heaved a small sigh. He walked away, throwing the uncomfortable saleswoman a last glance over his shoulder :

"We'll take it. The white one."

OOO

They were back on the street again; his steps steady, hers heavy.

"Why did you buy it? You already know I will never wear it!"

He didn't answer. The green shopping bag with the shop's logo hung loosely on his forearm.

"This is ridiculous. It's expensive, and it didn't please me at all."

Silence.

"Draco, I have to go."

"You said you had an hour…"

"Yes, and that was forty five minutes ago."

"Three-quarters of an hour have gone by?"

"Well, yeah."

"So we still have some time left, right?"

She sighed.

"I guess so."

"You don't want to stay with me?"

"Should we go for a cup of coffee? I want a cup of coffee."

She walked over to a terrace nearby, and without waiting for Draco's approval, sat herself at a table. He stood still in the middle of the shopping street for a few seconds before joining her. They remained silent for a moment, ordered a coffee and a beer, and finally she straightened and met his gaze.

"I don't know what you want, Draco. I think that it's you I wanted to please by buying that bloody dress, because you don't fancy me anymore."

"It's not what…"

"But if you wish for me to change, what you've just done will be of absolutely no use! You know fully well that I won't wear it! You know that! Surely there were other ways…"

He paused for a moment before uttering, in a low voice:

"That's not true."

"Of course it is. You could have given me a week-end away with you, you know that it's been a while since…"

"No, it's not true that I don't fancy you anymore, Hermione."

"Please who do you think you're lying to? Is it yourself, or me?"

He opened his mouth, closed it again. She looked around them.

"Do you remember this place? We met here, the first time."

"Yes."

"You were seated at that table and I was at the one over there."

"We're right between them, now."

"It's amazing how much it didn't change in the last eighteen years. The place, the tables, even the menu…only the people are different."

"Us."

"That's a given, we hated each other at the time."

She smiled slightly, wistfully.

"How many times did we come back here, just to have someone to talk to?"

"A lot, as I recall."

"Yes, a lot."

She laughed.

"Yes. It was good."

"Yes."

"But afterwards, that was good too."

"Of course. But it was…special."

"What was?"

"I don't know…the fact that we just sat there, together, and started talking. It made me feel better."

"It made me feel better, too. We were, both of us, poorly supported; you too much, me not enough. It's that war that broke us, that coffee that mended ours pieces."

"Yeah. Our pieces."

"Our pieces."

A waitress arrived with their beverages.

"Thank you."

Hermione closed her eyes for a brief moment.

"Do you reckon it'll rain again?"

"Why?

"No reason."

"No, I doubt it'll rain. The sky is far too bright for that."

She hummed.

"You never told me that you prefer grey to blue."

"No. But maybe it's because it's recent. And well, you never asked me."

"What could I have said? 'Tell me, Hermione, when do you most prefer the sky?'"

"So I've never had a reason to share that bit of knowledge with you."

"But, were you serious?"

"Of course."

"I mean, about you preferring grey."

"I was serious. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Ah."

"Not about a colour. That would be absurd."

"Why would you lie to me about?"

She shrugged. He stared at her; her eyes were still looking at the clouds. A mysterious smile grazed her lips.

"Oh, you know…I think that our life is full of unspoken things."

"Such as?"

"The fact that you don't regret calling me a Mudblood, for instance. I didn't know that…I mean, you never really apologised for your appalling behaviour back then but I believed that you thought it nonetheless."

"I mean about you…"

"And I'm talking about you."

"All right. Very well."

"All right."

"I won't apologise because it was another world altogether. I don't want to talk about that time again and apologising about anything would have dredged up everything."

"Maybe that's what you have to do."

"I don't think so."

"But I'd like to. We have to talk about it, we've been married for fourteen years and we barely know each other, Draco…but tell me this: are you not apologising because you don't regret it, or is it because you just don't want to think about it?"

"A little bit of both, I think."

"A little bit of both?"

"Yes."

"Meaning?"

"I told you: I didn't like you. I don't see how I would have been agreeable toward someone whom I couldn't stand."

"But why couldn't you stand me?"

"Well, you know…"

"Why?"

"You hung around those two all the time."

"And?"

"And I hated them."

"Why?"

"One was arrogant, the other…"

"What about the other?"

"You know…his family, his ginger hair…my upbringing…"

"And what about mine, my family? Don't tell me that you hated me because of them, because that's not true. You hated me just as you hated them, simply because I was Muggle-born."

"Well, perhaps, yes…but you know, that's the way I was raised and…"

"And that excuses everything, right? You couldn't possibly think for yourself, Malfoy?"

"At eleven? Look at where I am, now, today, Granger, and tell me if I've ever started to think for myself at some point."

She pursed her lips.

"If we hadn't won that war…"

"I wouldn't be here today, talking to you about all this."

"You admit it."

"It's the truth."

"So?"

"So what?"

"If you could have a do-over, would you do it all again?"

"Yes.

"Ok."

"Because that was the person I was back then, and that person, from the day it met you thirty seven years ago, until the day it vanished, seventeen years ago, it never changed its mind in regard to you. The person I am today…would have never, ever, called you that today. But if I had to do it again, if what I know today had been a part of the knowledge of the younger Draco Malfoy, I don't believe that it would have made any difference to him."

"All right."

"It bothers you."

"It's the truth. I mean, it's good to know."

"Yes, but it bothers you."

"Yes. Of course it does."

They fell silent for a moment.

"I have to get going."

"All right."

She stood, smiled, slightly.

"I'm glad we talked, Malfoy."

He returned her small smile, eyes narrowed against the sunlight.

"At least it was useful, maybe."

She grabbed her handbag, nodded at the man still sitting before her, all greying hair, hands linked over his stomach, half a bottle of beer set in front of him. And turned on her heels.

He watched her leave for a few seconds and leaned against the back of his chair, eyes closed, face turned toward the sunlight that just started to filter between the clouds.

Between his feet, the shopping bag from 'Browns' sat still with the linen dress inside, that white dress that, perhaps, no woman would ever wear.

* * *

**Yes, this is a very strange one shot, I'm aware of that. But that's exactly what I love about it. I felt it was very unique, when I first read it in its original french version, and I hope that my translation was able to convey that feeling.**

**Thank you for reading, reviewing is much appreciated.**

**and Dramione FTW!**


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